


The Lost Boys

by EstrellaQueAdmiro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Bad Parent John Winchester, Gen, Pre-Season/Series 01, Pre-Series, Protective Dean Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, pre-series AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstrellaQueAdmiro/pseuds/EstrellaQueAdmiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1990, John Winchester leaves eleven-year-old Dean and six-almost-seven-year-old Sam Winchester for a hunt, leaving little money for food and a promise to be back in three ways. But he never returns. When money runs out and the boys can no longer stay in the safety of the motel now, Dean has no choice but to fend for himself and look after Sam while trying to find their father. But how far can two young boys get when alone and on the streets?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Outside Seattle, WA. 25th April 1990.

John Winchester slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to the door of the spacious, clean motel room.

"You boys be good. None of that fighting crap. You know the drill," he said quietly to his eldest as his younger son slept one of the two large beds.

"Yes, sir," the eleven year old said solemnly. John fought back a small smile and turned to leave once again. A small tugging on his shirt made him stop in his tracks. Sam, in Dean's old Batman pyjamas which almost swamped the poor kid, was staring up at his father with those damn eyes that resembled a lost puppy's too much. John tried to conceal a sigh. Sam didn't like it when his Dad left, so John preferred to leave while he was sleeping. It meant leaving at night, but at least he could be ready for the case by morning. At least he didn't experience the complementary guilt that came with those puppy eyes. It was selfish, John acknowledged that. It meant Dean was left to break the news to Sam once more and reassure the boy. As far as John was concerned, his eldest was better at dealing with Sam anyway.

"Sammy," John shook his head and knelt beside the six-year-old, "Get some rest. It's late."

"Are you going away again?" Sam's voice was almost a whisper as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously.

"Yeah. I gotta job to do. But I'll be back soon," John ruffled the young boy's hair with a smile. Sam threw his arms around his father, and John immediately returned the gesture and hugged him close, "Make sure Dean takes care of you proper, right?"

The youngest Winchester nodded, "I will, Daddy."

"That's my boy," John chuckled, patting Sam on the shoulder and looking up at Dean.

"Lock the door after me. Don't open it for anyone. Don't leave this room unless it's to get food. Don't let Sammy out of your sight," John nodded, "Got this room for three nights. Should be back in time. Should be enough cash for another night if you need it. And if you need help..."

"...Call Pastor Jim or Uncle Bobby," Dean recited in a bored monotone. Too many times he'd heard it all.

"That's right," the driven father frowned at Dean's tone but wasn't in the mood to call him out on it. He allowed Sam to hug him again, and he pressed a kiss on his dark locks of hair. Sam buried his face in John's leather jacket, taking in the smell as much as possible before he was forced to let go. The leather aroma was soothing to the young boy. He felt safer, despite feeling safe just with Dean around. Yet Sam still had fears of abandonment, that Dean would get so sick of him that he'd walk out and never come back. He'd had these nightmares several times.

As John stood up, Dean tried futilely to get a hug from his father as well. He held his arms up a little, but John merely turned away and refused to acknowledge the action. He's too old for that, John grumbled in his mind, shutting the door behind him and going out to the Impala. The boys heard the familiar roar of the engine, and the rumble growing quieter and quieter until it faded into silence.

The younger boy let out a small sigh, a sigh that seemed too old for a six-year-old, and sat down on his bed, grabbing the small, battered bear he'd let go of he'd slept. Dean shook his head and looked away. Sam had had a bear when he was a baby, a small one with soft dark brown fur and blue eyes that Mary had tucked beside him every night since his first night home from the hospital. It was probably destroyed in the fire as Dean had no memory of it since. When John had taken the boys to a town around thirty miles West of Sioux Falls, Sam, then only two years old, had discovered a small teddy bear under one of the motel beds. The thing was covered in a thick layer of dust, and John told the boy sharply that it wasn't his and so he couldn't have it. Dean however, took no notice. The two-year-old's bottom lip had stuck out as fat tears streamed from his blue-green eyes, his little hands clutching desperately at the abandoned teddy. The older brother had cleaned the bear vigorously until it was completely dust free before handing it back to his little brother. Sam immediately began to smile through the tears. John was disapproving, insisting that Dean was stupid was letting Sam get himself attached to a "damn piece of fabric", but the smile on Sammy's face as he clutched at his new possession made it all worth it to Dean.

That bear had been with them ever since, and helped the youngest Winchester get to sleep. As a toddler, Sam struggled sleeping through the night, often waking his brother and father with his cries or climbing into Dean's bed on the rare occasions they got a bed each. With that teddy, however, the sleep problems literally disappeared overnight. Dean was grateful to whoever left that bear behind, whether they missed it or not, for helping Sam feel just that little bit safer in the world he really should be afraid of.

Sam hugged the bear to his chest for about a minute, stroking the slightly matted fur rhythmically with his index finger.

"Dad's gonna be alright. You know he is. Just got another mechanic job," Dean said quietly, "It's your fault for waking up."

Sam ignored him, lying on his side and pulling the bed covers over himself.

"Night, Dean," he mumbled, voice muffled from the covers.

"Night, Sammy," Dean watched his brother for a little while as he curled up in a ball and fell asleep before following suit.

Shifting of the bed covers and the creaking of bed springs woke Dean from an awesome dream that faded within seconds. The mattress dipped as Sam climbed into his big brother's bed, immediately attaching himself to Dean with his face buried in his shoulder. The older boy sighed softly and wrapped an arm around Sam. Nightmare, he concluded, saying nothing but waiting for Sam to doze off again before trying to sleep himself. Not that he could. Sam shifted too much, mumbling nonsense and moving all over the place. Dean lay there, staring into the darkness, no sound but Sam's slow, quiet breaths and the creak of the bed as he moved. He was just glad Sam was getting some rest.

Morning finally arrived and Dean had grabbed about two hours sleep at the most. His eyelids struggled to stay open, and his head ached a little, drowned out by the wave of nausea that hit him hard. Sam, however, was curled up with his bear, holding onto Dean's arm.

Dean didn't have the heart to wake his brother, but he needed to get breakfast. He'd gone to get them some food without Sam before, only to return to his little brother scared out of his wits from waking up on his own. He couldn't put Sammy through that again.

He gently shook the young boy's shoulder, and Sam groaned and shoved him tiredly in response.

"Sleeping," Sam mumbled, voice muffled from talking into the pillow.

"C'mon, Sleeping Beauty. We gotta get breakfast," Dean smirked at his brother.

"Later," Sam rolled over and curled back up into a ball again. Dean rolled his eyes and snatched the bear from his arms. The six-year-old was up in a shot.

"Give him back!" he whined, jumping and trying his hardest to grab it. Dean grinned tauntingly and waved it way over the smaller boy's head.

"Fine! Fine! We can go now!" Sam glared, catching the bear as Dean dropped it, "You're a jerk."

"And you're a bitch, but you don't see me complaining. Besides, I'm your big brother. It's my job," the older brother looked at Sam triumphantly, "Go get dressed."

Dean strode into the bathroom while Sam ruffled through his clothes in his duffel bag. After making a pile of clothes he'd need to ask Dean to take to the launderette, he finally pulled out a pair of jeans he was sure he'd only worn once since the last wash, along with a clean flannel shirt. It was a hand-me-down from Dean, as a lot of his clothes were. But this one was Sam's favourite. It had been a favourite of his big brother's, and although Sam didn't admit it out loud, he liked feeling like his big brother when wearing that shirt.

Once dressed, he folded his pyjamas onto the pillow of his bed, and then dug around in his bag to find his comb. He'd never owned a comb before, until he found one left in another motel room. John was certainly not a fan of Sam's growing collection of motel lost property, but Dean did his best to defend him. The young boy had so little possessions, what harm would a comb and a few other objects do? Is it so wrong for him to want things he could call his own seeing as his father had rarely given him anything? Wasn't like the kid had found cigarettes.

Sam carefully combed his hair, staring at his reflection with a look of concentration. He brushed his bangs into place before placing his comb safely back into his bag.

Dean and Sam ended up with a box of Lucky Charms between them and a juicebox each. No bowls or spoons, they ate straight from the box and bickered over who was eating the most. The elder Winchester craved some bacon, a greasy bacon sandwich smothered in ketchup, just like the one he'd had a few towns back when John took his boys out for breakfast. Sam had annoyed Dean by wasting the opportunity, wanting only Lucky Charms. The miniscule amount of money provided by their dad meant Dean had to be careful with money, meaning bacon sandwiches were completely off the table. The eleven-year-old had learned the importance of saving money the hard way, when just over a year ago he spent almost all their money within a day. The remainder of that stay involved Dean sacrificing his own food for Sam, but once that ran out he resorted to stealing and even going through trash cans. He'd since perfected the art of stealing, unbeknown to John and Sam.

"Dean?" the younger Winchester said through a mouthful of cereal.

"Yeah?" Dean looked away from the old war film he was watching on TV.

"Will Dad be back for my birthday?" Sam sounded hopeful and looked briefly at the TV screen.

"Sure he will," Dean gave him a reassuring smile, "Your birthday's like a week away, he'll be back before then."

"Promise?" Sam leaned back on the couch, eyes a little wide.

"Promise," Dean sighed, shaking his head. For all he knew, another job would come up, meaning John has to leave Sam on his birthday. He hated making promises to Sam that he wasn't sure he could keep, but he also hated seeing him worry.

"Can I have a birthday cake?"

Dean didn't even answer.

The youngest Winchester boy took the motel paper pad and used his pen – another motel find – to draw. He didn't draw often, but for once he decided against fighting Dean for the remote, and he wasn't in the mood to read. He would have liked to explore the town they were staying in, maybe see if they had a park, but he knew John didn't like the boys leaving the motel unless to get food, and even then he expected them to be quick. The boy didn't understand that rule, but he daren't question it.

Sam drew a picture of Dean in a Batman costume – he knew how much he loved that character – and himself as Superman. He envied those superheroes. They could do whatever they wanted, they weren't afraid of anything. They saved the day and were loved by so many. That life was so much more appealing. The six-year-old didn't feel brave at all; he feared monsters that he wasn't sure existed, he was afraid of the dark and of being alone. Sam's only friend was Dean, who he looked up to and almost completely relied on. Their differences in interests, however, made Sam wish his school life was more consistent. He wanted to go out and help people and save the world but was instead confined to motel rooms of varying degrees of quality, without even being allowed to go outside. He'd much rather go stay with their Uncle Bobby, who indulged the boys in ball games and fun stuff that boys were meant to be doing at six and eleven. Sam looked forward to trips to Uncle Bobby's more than anything. It was the closest they had to a home.

Sam placed the finished superhero drawing on the bedside table, now with the addition of a wobbly, scribbly-drawn city for him and Dean to protect. Dean glanced over at it and picked it up.

"Is this us?" he said, looking at Sam with a look of approval, "Are we badass superheroes?"

"Yeah," Sam answered shyly.

"Sweet," Dean grinned, "Sam and Dean defending the Earth. Good job, Sammy."  
Sam glowed with pride as Dean kept it beside him on his bed, occasionally glancing away from the TV to smile at it. Dean couldn't help but feel proud that his brother saw him in such a way. Yet he still worried about the day Sam would be told about John's real job. He'd been fed lies about John being a mechanic that travels all over – how would Sam take the truth? Would he still consider his big brother a hero when he finds out his big brother lied to him about something so big?

Once the movie was over, Dean gave Sam the remote controller and allowed him to choose the channel. As he did, Dean took the opportunity to get them some lunch.

"I'll be back before you know it, Sammy. Just don't open the door-"

"-to strangers. I know, Dean. I'm not stupid.

Dean smirked, "I know you're not. Smarter than me already."

"Can't we get a McDonalds?" Sam sighed.

"Sam, I've told you before. McDonalds is only for special occasions. Maybe for your birthday," Dean left out the fact that McDonalds didn't quite fit in their budget.

"Can I get a Happy Meal for my birthday? And an ice cream?"

"Sure thing, Sammy. And get an awesome toy with it. Sound good?" Dean counted the dollar bills and put them in his pocket.

Deducting the amount of money for an extra night should they need it, the boys were left with $10 exactly. Ten dollars to feed two boys for three days.

Sam settled on the old armchair in the corner of the room, watching some cartoon on TV while Dean left to get to the grocery store around the corner. Looked like Cheetos and discounted bread rolls were going to be lunch, beside the chocolate and Pepsi he'd slipped into his bag discreetly.

Sam grinned at his the sight of Cheetos, it had been week since they'd had any, snatching them up and opening the bag in an instant.

"Hey, don't hog them!" Dean said sternly. It wouldn't be the first time he missed out on a treat from Sam's lack of the concept of savouring. The six-year-old ate a few Cheetos before holding the bag out to Dean. The older brother smiled, took a few himself, then unwrapped the two bread rolls.

"Want a cheeto sandwich?" he whispered, ripping open the rolls and stuffing cheetos in each. Sam looked a little hesitant but took a tentative bite from the strange sandwich.

"It's good!" Sam's eyes lit up with wonder that seemed a little strange over a sandwich, taking another bite, "You're a genius, Dean!"

"I know," Dean winked, wolfing his own sandwich down, "Got some more too."

He presented the chocolate and Pepsi, breaking the bar in half and letting Sam take first sip of the Pepsi. Sam grinned and ate his share of the chocolate a little too fast with the overall excitement of having it. He looked a little disappointed, regretting not eating it slower. Dean broke off a square of his half and handed it to his brother, who practically nibbled the piece to savour it as long as possible. Dean was just glad Sam didn't question the cost of things, but feared the day he would begin to.

The rest of the day was spent lounging and watching TV, for once taking turns to choose the channel. Dean secretly wished he'd swiped a newspaper for the TV listings too.

Dinner consisted of leftover Cheetos and Pepsi, but a quick trip to the vending machine outside added potato chips to the mix. Sam ate a mere few of each before falling asleep, curled up on Dean's bed. The older boy rolled his eyes and tucked him under the blankets before getting into Sam's bed to sleep himself.


	2. 2

Dean got back into the motel room as quietly as he could and found Sam still asleep, to his relief. He’d tried to wake him to tell him he was stocking up on yet more Lucky Charms, but the six-year-old just groaned and rolled over in response. Dean was too hungry to wait and so left a note by Sam’s bed in case he woke. His fault if he panics, Dean thought to himself.  
He placed the new box of Lucky Charms on the coffee table beside the almost empty one – he’d got hungry in the middle of the night – and pulled the bottle of milk from his bag. It was an old bag of John’s that he gave to his eldest, and Dean found it could conveniently conceal several objects he couldn’t afford with the limited money provided. Nothing like some stolen milk on your cereal.   
The old box of Lucky Charms was empty, and quite a bit from the new box was gone by the time Sam woke up. He’d slept almost a full twelve hours.  
“Morning, Sammy,” Dean smiled over at the younger boy stretching, “Got some more Lucky Charms. And milk.”  
“Milk too?” Sam scrambled out of bed, his hair a birds nest of tangles on his head.   
“Yeah, I know that’s how you like ‘em.”  
Dean had got a from the motel’s reception to use as a bowl. They didn’t have any bowls, typically, but a glass was better than pouring the milk into the actual box.  
“Don’t we have any spoons?” Sam looked up at his brother.  
“What is this, a fancy restaurant?” Dean snapped, “No spoons.”  
“But the last motel had a little kitchen in the room. You made me sgapetti-Os. Do you remember? We had spoons then,” Sam poured some of the cereal into his glass and filled it almost to the top with milk.  
“Yeah, well. This motel doesn’t have a little kitchen. It sucks,” Dean muttered and ate a few more Lucky Charms from the box.  
“Do you want some milk too, Dean?” Sam broke the silence and held out the now empty glass. He had milk all around his mouth, and Dean couldn’t help himself. He grabbed some toilet paper from the bathroom and wiped at Sam’s face.  
“Get off!” Sam whined, trying to bat away Dean’s hand.  
“You wanted to look gross?” Dean smirked, wiping away the last of the milk before pouring himself a glass without cereal.  
“Can I have a shower, Dean?” Sam went over to his duffel to find some fresh clothes.  
“Sure, Sam. Don’t have to ask,” Dean finished his milk and placed the empty glass on the side.  
“Can I use your shampoo?”   
“No!” Dean started to glare at his little brother, “Dad just got you that new one you wanted. Mine almost ran out!”  
“But I like yours too,” Sam gave the older boy a small smile.  
“Yeah, well, it’s mine. You have your own,” Dean shook his head, “At least Dad lets you pick yours.”  
“You can use mine? As much as you want!” the six-year-old looked hopeful.  
“No, Sam! I don’t want my hair to smell like a whiny little girl like you,” Dean raised his voice in frustration, “Just use your own damn stuff!”  
Sam gave up and took his washbag into the bathroom. He did like his own shampoo. He liked that it smelled like strawberries. But Dean’s was the same as their Dad’s, and Sam liked the smell of that one too. He liked using it to feel involved. John and Dean weren’t fans of fruity shampoos. Sam thought about this while washing his own hair  
The younger boy came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist and trailing on the floor.  
“Wow, quick shower,” Dean turned his attention away from some sitcom on TV and smirked, “Didn’t even hear you turn it on. And you’re dry already!”  
“Don’t know how to work the shower,” Sam mumbled forlornly, and Dean couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing before getting up to help.  
“Not funny!” Sam shoved his brother lightly, following him to the bathroom.  
“See, you just got to…” the eldest Winchester brother let out a small scream as the shower fired ice cold water at him. Sam giggled quietly, but quickly shut up as Dean shot him a glare.  
“Not funny,” he snapped, “I’m gonna have to change again!”  
Eventually Sam got to take his shower, and came out the bathroom in a plain grey T-shirt and the same jeans he’d worn the day before. He searched through his bag and pulled out his latest book, climbing back onto the bed and settling against the headboard.  
“Dean?” he said before beginning to read from where he left off, “When does the library want this book back?”  
Dean dragged his eyes away from the TV impatiently and frowned at the book.  
“Did you borrow that one from a library in, what, Ohio?”  
“I think so,” Sam shrugged.  
“That was over a month ago! Do you seriously think we’re gonna go back, drive hour, just so you can give a stupid book back?” Dean shook his head in frustration.  
“But, Dean. The library needs it back. It was a borrow, not a keep. I didn’t buy it. That’s stealing,” Sam looked a little fearful, “Will I get in trouble?”  
“Yeah, the library police are gonna track you down and put you in jail,” Dean grinned to himself as the puppy eyes widened further.  
“There are library police? Will I really go to jail?” Sam whimpered feebly, eyes almost perfect circles. He put the book down on the bed, as if just touching it would get him in even more trouble.  
“Don’t be so dumb. Of course not. They probably don’t even care, okay? You won’t get in trouble, I bet they forgot all about it.”  
Sam cautiously picked up the book again and began to read, leaning back on his pillows. The older boy shook his head and went back to trashy TV shows. He’d told Sam he checked out that book from the library for him, but in truth he’d shoved it into his bag while no one was looking. John would kill him if he found out how much of a thief his eldest had become.   
Sam fidgeted and frowned until he put the book down and went to grab the remote control.  
“Hey!” Dean smacked his hand away.  
“Turn it down! I can’t concentrate!” Sam complained, but Dean snatched the remote out of Sam’s reach and made a show of increasing the volume with a grin.  
“Stop it!” Sam whined.  
“What’s that? Sorry, can’t hear you. TV’s too loud,” the eleven-year-old held the remote way out of his brother’s reach, no matter how hard he tried.  
“I want to read! And people next door will be mad at you for being loud,” Sam clambered onto Dean’s bed and tried to tackle the remote off him, “We’ll get into trouble!”  
The six-year-old’s voice was high pitched with fear as he scrabbled to prise Dean’s fingers away from the controller.  
“Grow some balls, Sammy,” with one shove, Sam lost his balance and fell off the bed with a loud thud. Dean laughed as he landed on his ass, but the younger Winchester struggled to fight tears forming in his eyes. Sam blinked hard and rubbed at his eyes, avoiding his brother’s eyes and going around the other side of the bed, out of Dean’s sight, to finish his book. Dean turned the TV down, quieter than a normal level, turned his attention back to the TV. He couldn’t settle or pay attention properly. The eldest brother sighed in guilt and shook his head. Sam had ratted Dean out before, telling either Bobby or John about how his brother had treated him. Bobby was – the majority of the time- a lot softer. He’d comfort the youngest and give a few stern words to the eldest, but he didn’t bother with punishment. As long as the boy apologised, it was sorted.   
John, however, was another story. Sam was such a sensitive kid and took things to heard so easily, and several times Dean had just overstepped the line of what Sam could take and really upset his little brother. Many of these instances were reported to John, who proceeded to lecture Dean on looking out or and respecting his little brother rather than insulting him. John had struck his oldest son across the face before, when Sam came to his father in uncontrollable tears after Dean, in rage, had told him that he was unloved, a burden, and told him he and John would someday abandon him. Dean was sent to bed with no dinner. Sam smuggled him a little anyway.  
“Want to go explore?” Dean knelt beside his brother. Sam looked up from his book with a small glare.  
“Not allowed,” his blue-green eyes turned back to the story and he shuffled further away from Dean. The older Winchester rolled his eyes.  
“Who cares about what Dad said, dammit! He’s not here, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”  
“But what if he comes back and we’re gone? He’ll get mad,” Sam didn’t turn his focus away from his book.  
“He won’t. He’ll be back tomorrow, I bet. And besides, if he does come back, we can just say we went to buy some food,” Dean nudged his brother gently in the ribs, “C’mon, Sammy. I’m sorry for being an ass. I’m bored of being stuck in this place. I know you are too.”  
“Can I finish my book first? I’m almost done. Look! Only like ten pages left!” Sam’s eyes were bright with wonder as he looked up at Dean.  
“Sure. You sure read quick. Quicker than me,” Dean got onto Sam’s bed and lay on his stomach, watching his brother from above, “Good book?”  
“Yeah, shh,” Sam settled back into reading mode and Dean stayed quiet for him, waiting patiently as the avid reader finished the book and placed it on the bedside table.  
“Is there a park? Can we go?” Sam hopped up from the floor and put his shoes on, “Can I go on the swing?”  
“I don’t know, we got here late and the grocery store’s just over the road. Haven’t been able to look around properly,” Dean shrugged, “But if we find one I’ll make sure you get the best swing all to yourself for as long as you want.”  
Sam grinned excitedly and shrugged on his jacket, going to the door and waiting expectantly. Dean soon followed and opened up the door for him.  
“You’re like a damn dog waiting for walkies,” he muttered as Sam scampered outside and looked up and down the street in anticipation. He had no idea which direction to try, and so left it to Dean to decide.   
“C’mon, I saw stuff this way,” Dean turned left, toward the grocery store, with Sam following at his heels.   
The town centre was reasonably sized, far bigger than past few places they’d been to. A bigger grocery store was the most prominent, with bright signs and posters in the windows, with smaller, duller stores surrounding it, most with flaking paintjobs. But something else had caught the six-year-old’s eye.  
“Can we go in the pet store, Dean?” Sam pointed to a small store with a faded red sign that read, “Pete’s Pets and Supplies”.   
“Sure…as long as it hasn’t got any cats. Or I’ll be sneezin’ all over them,” Dean grimaced, thinking back to the time a four year old Sam had coaxed a cat into the motel room and sat with it on his brother’s bed, petting it and whispering to it. John had been out at the time to get some food for the boys, but exploded upon his return. Dean wasn’t sure he could remember a time where John had yelled at Sam more than that time. Through the sneezing and the streaming eyes from the cat hair, he remembered consoling and calming down his little brother through the bathroom door and trying to coax him out. The bathroom was always Sam’s hiding place for when he was really upset, and nothing shook Dean more than the sound of Sam crying.  
The younger boy pushed open the door and was greeted by a small tinkle of a bell. Dean followed him in cautiously and was relieved to see no felines at first glance. A friendly looking man, in his sixties, with a short white beard and large round glasses, looked up from the counter.  
“Hello there,” his voice was soft as he nodded to both boys. His whiskery eyebrows knitted into a frown, “Shouldn’t you boys be in school?”  
“Just moved here today,” Dean piped up quickly, “Don’t start at our new school ‘til tomorrow, our Dad let us explore today, get to know the place.”  
In truth, John hadn’t even started to look getting the boys into a new school. He’d had several jobs over several states, one after the other with little time in between. No point in trying. Sam and Dean would much have preferred to be in school rather than being cooped up inside crappy motel rooms, especially Dean who really enjoyed school. Sam, however, had missed so much of the second grade thanks to his father that he would have to repeat the year with kids a whole year younger than him. John was pretty sure Sam was capable of keeping up with third grade despite missing the second year, but he wanted to be sure. The youngest Winchester’s memories of school weren’t exactly the most pleasant. He hated being the new kid and tried his best to ignore all the stares he got from the other children. He didn’t like feeling different and out of place. He’d never once made a friend. He did, however, remember a large bookshelf of books in the classroom of the first school he ever went to and longed to have one of his own. Sam had learned to read almost independently, with a little help from Dean, and had become a very advanced reader for a boy of six. A teacher at his third elementary school, back in Mississippi, had watched in total astonishment as the small boy took a rather advanced book for his age and sat down to read it without difficulty. She had wanted to meet his parents, to praise them on having such a bright son, but she never found an adult waiting for him after school. Just his brother.  
“Ah, well. Nice little town. Nice people. Sure you’ll fit in,” the old man smiled, “I’m Pete. And you are?”  
“I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam,” Dean gestured to him slightly and nodded.  
“Anything you need help with, Dean and Sam?”  
Sam stepped forward towards a few rabbits and guinea pigs in cages, “Can I look at the animals?” he said timidly.  
“Animal lover? Sure you can, son,” Pete knelt beside Sam as he finally went closer to the rabbits. A small smile grew on the young boy’s face as he watched the animals sleeping or wandering around their space.  
“Sammy sure loves animals,” Dean’s voice was a quiet mutter, “Not allowed pets, though.”  
Pete looked from one brother to the other, “That’s a shame. Say, want to hold one of these here rabbits, Sam?”  
Sam instantly looked to Dean for approval, and the older boy nodded with an encouraging smile.   
“Yes, please,” the six-year-old said quietly, pointing to a black and white rabbit with floppy ears. Pete nodded to himself and opened up the cage, lifting the chosen bunny. It stayed calm and relaxed, nose twitching rhythmically.  
“Take a seat, Sam,” Pete led him to a chair by the counter, and Sam instantly sat down. The rabbit was placed onto his lap, and he carefully held it with one arm as he stroked the soft fur with his free hand. Dean knelt beside his brother and couldn’t help but smile at the pure happiness on his face.   
“Cute, huh,” Dean smirked, reaching and stroking the rabbit with Sam. He then looked up at the pet shop owner, “Thanks, Pete.”  
“Anytime, really. I’m sure she’d like to see you again if you want to come visit, Sam,” Pete replaced the water bottle in the rabbit’s cage.   
After a few minutes Sam gave the rabbit back and thanked Pete for letting him hold her. They carried on down the street until they came across a small toy store. Without a word, Sam went straight inside leaving Dean to roll his eyes and follow.   
The eleven-year-old felt a little saddened in that store. He watched Sam looking at all the toys, not touching, just looking. On the rare occasion John took his boys to a toy store there was strict instruction that they mustn’t touch or play with anything, resulting in a slap on the hand if they disobeyed. Very occasionally Sam would be indulged with a toy or two, and very rarely Dean. Even so, they were small, cheap, and often got lost or broken.  
Sam was studying the boxes of little toy cars, taking in every colour and shape and model with interest. He loved toy cars and used to have a plastic one John got for less than a dollar. It had no moving wheels or much detail, and the boy wasn’t very fond of it, but he played with it nonetheless. Wasn’t like he was going to get anything better.  
Sam moved away from the toy cars and instead went to go look at the large shelf of stuffed animals, another favourite of his. As he did so, Dean slipped a car or two into his bag while the woman at the cash register had her back turned. Sam was too engrossed in superhero costumes to notice, and the sound of the cash register opening would hopefully be enough to fool Sam into thinking his new toys were fairly bought.  
“There’s a library!” Sam gasped and pointed to a large, old fashioned building down a side street. Dean didn’t even try to protest and led his brother to it in reluctance. That boy could spend hours in a library, considering every book he saw, possibly reading a page or two. Dean was getting a little hungry by this point but held off for now. Nothing goes between Sam and his books.  
Dean sat himself on a large, comfortable leather couch in the corner of the kid’s section as his little brother seemed to look at every single book. An hour or possibly two must have passed when Sam finally returned to Dean empty handed. By this point, Dean’s stomach was beginning to growl a little too loud for such a quiet place.   
“Aren’t ya going to get any books out?” Dean pushed himself up from his lazy lounging position.  
“What if we go away again?” Sam shrugged, “I don’t want to steal more books.”  
“We can send them back. We’ll send back your other book too. Go on, you have no books to read at the motel now,” Dean shrugged, stretching his arms, “Just be quick, I’m starving.”  
Sam nodded and bounded off, disappearing into an aisle and appearing in different places. He finally emerged with three medium sized books in his arms.  
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Sam handed over the books.”  
“Sure, I’ll check these out for you then,” Dean grinned, but the moment the six-year-old was out of sight Dean slowly, carefully and as discreetly as possible put all three books into his bag.   
As the Winchester boys got back to their motel room, Sam threw his arms around his big brother in a tight hug. Dean yelped in surprise and slowly hugged him back.  
“Thank you, Dean,” the six-year-old whispered. Dean smiled and looked down at Sam.  
“For what?”  
“For taking me outside and letting me hold a bunny and look at toys and get books,” Sam mumbled, face buried in Dean’s chest.  
“Hey, it’s nothing. We were climbing the walls in that place. A little exploring hurt no one, right?” Dean patted his brother’s back gently, “I got you something else too.”  
He pulled out the two small cars, one red and one blue, laughing at the shock on Sam’s face.  
“You’re the best big brother in the world, Dean!” Sam hugged him again, “Thank you!”  
Dean smiled proudly and gently let go of Sam, unlocking the motel room door and going inside. In comparison to Dean, Sam was practically spoiled. John let Sam pick his stuff, the shampoo a prime example, he bought him toys and sometimes comics while Dean was lucky to get any of those at all. But Sam was so grateful and seemingly felt so undeserving that when he received a gift he got so overwhelmed with joy. Not only that, but he never failed to share with Dean. He sometimes let his big brother read his new comic before he did, they’d play with his toys together. Dean hoped that Sam would be willing to share his new toy cars with him too.   
But he still worried about the day Sam would grow out of his naivety. How long before Sam questioned how much things cost and how Dean got things? The older Winchester brother instead chose to savour whatever time he had left to unwillingly fool his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment, I love to hear your thoughts! <3


	3. Chapter 3

Dean allowed himself a well-deserved lie-in. The boys both had an early night after their visit into town, but the next day they’d stayed up late watching TV not suitable for children their age. Neither had got much sleep, particularly Sam, who’d been freaked out greatly over the horror movie Dean had put on. The screams and various terrifying sound effects had prevented Sam sleeping while Dean watched it in amusement. The six year old wasn’t as generous to himself as his brother. Since six in the morning he’d positioned himself by the window, listening out for the familiar rumble of the Impala that never failed to put a smile on his face. John said he should be back today, all going well, and Sam always watched out for him on his alleged return date. It annoyed the crap out of Dean, who got jumpy and nervous from Sam’s silent waiting.   
It was 10am and the younger Winchester hadn’t moved, as if worried he’d miss his father’s return if he looked away from the window. He fidgeted nervously. The young boy knew they had to check out in an hour’s time, and there was no sign of John at all. He’d said he would be back before the three nights were up, and he hadn’t come back yet. The eldest Winchester’s occasional lateness never failed to scare him.  
Sam clambered down from the chair closest to the window and instead climbed into Dean’s bed, curling up beside his big brother to at least try to calm down. No matter how worried he was, Dean made him feel safer and far more relaxed. Dean can handle anything, he’s the bravest person Sam knew. The six-year-old had faith that his brother could take care of him until John returned, whenever he would.   
The disturbance of the perfect stillness in Dean’s bed didn’t wake him. It wasn’t until two little arms wrapped themselves around his own that the eleven-year-old stirred and opened his green eyes sleepily.  
“What’s your problem?” he mumbled, “Tryin’ to sleep.”  
“Dad isn’t back yet, Dean,” Sam buried his face in Dean’s arm, “What if he got lost?”  
“Dad’s not stupid like you. He knows how to get back here,” Dean rolled his eyes, “Shut up and let me sleep.”  
“But Dean,” Sam whined, “Dad said he’d be back before three nights! It’s been three nights now!”  
“Maybe he took longer than he expected. What do you expect me to do, call him?” Dean muttered, “He’ll be back later, alright? Now let me sleep.”  
“What if he doesn’t come back?” Sam’s eyes widened.  
“He will. But if he doesn’t we got enough money for another night in this place. If he still ain’t back we call Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim. You know that,” Dean sat up, giving up on trying to sleep, “Get off me, creep.”  
He shook his little brother off and got out of bed, pouring the last of the Lucky Charms into the glass for Sam and filling it up with milk before sitting and trying his best not to ignore his brother eating. They’d since run out of food and there was such little money left that Dean feared he’d have to break into the cash for the extra night. There was still lunch and dinner to go. He’d have to go without.  
“Why aren’t you eating any breakfast, Dean?” Sam had eaten exactly half of his Lucky Charms and milk and once again had milk all around his mouth.   
“Not hungry,” the older boy shrugged.  
“But you gotta eat something. Want the rest of the Lucky Charms and milk?” the six-year old held out his glass with a smile.  
“No, no, Sammy. You eat up your breakfast.”  
“Breakfast is important. Uncle Bobby said so. He said you gotta eat breakfast or your brain won’t work properly during the day,” Sam seemed genuinely serious as he spoke, “You want your brain to work, right?”  
Dean smirked, “You sure you want me to have your Lucky Charms?”  
“Yeah, Dean. Its okay, I’m full. I think my brain’s gonna work okay today,” the youngest Winchester giggled quietly at his humour. Dean couldn’t help but join in.  
“Your brain always works. You’re a little smartass,” he grinned, “Smarter than Dad, I bet.”  
“Really?” Sam’s eyes widened, “Am I smarter than Dad?”  
“Doubt he started reading at like, three years old or whatever,” Dean shrugged, “Have you even seen him read a book?”  
Sam pondered this for a moment, “He sometimes has books. Real old ones, remember? Wouldn’t let me look at them though.”  
“Yeah, probably dirty books,” the older boy smirked, “Wouldn’t want to spoil your tender innocence.”  
The six-year-old frowned at the remark but didn’t dispute it, “Will you have those Lucky Charms now? They’ll be mush if you take too long.”  
The cereal had pretty much disintegrated by the time Dean wolfed it down, but there was a sharp knock at the door that startled both boys. Sam gasped quietly and hid behind the bed, leaving Dean rolling his eyes where he was. He couldn’t blame him though. From past experiences knocks on the door weren’t always good. Dean and Sam had experienced drunken men attempting to break in, thinking it was their room, angry innkeepers demanding money for an extra night or warning them to keep it down due to noise complaints. Those complaints were often after John’s drinking had caused him to pick fault with his boys and punish them, most often Dean, for something not worth punishing. Sam had feared the dreaded knock on the door for many years.  
Dean cautiously opened the door to find the innkeeper with a stern look on his face. His frown grew at the sight of the young boy on his own.  
“You in here on your own?” his gruff voice sounded painful.  
“My Dad went out with my little brother. He was moaning ‘cause we ran out of Lucky Charms and demanded he wanted more,” Dean shrugged, “He’s real picky, my brother.”  
“Right. Di’n’t your Daddy know he gotta check out?” the innkeeper folded his arms.  
“Yeah, he did. He left me here so I could tell you we need another night,” the older Winchester brother pulled the money from his pocket and handed it to the innkeeper, “That enough?”  
The old man counted up the bills and handed $13 back to him, “There ya go, son. Tell yer Dad thanks.”  
“Will do, sir,” Dean gave a friendly smile and shut the door. He breathed a sigh of relief, particularly at the extra $10 he didn’t know about. Guess he must have counted it wrong.  
“Is he gone?” Sam’s voice was a mere squeak from behind the bed.  
“Yeah, Sammy. He’s gone,” he knelt beside his little brother, “Just the innkeeper.”  
“You paid for an extra night?” the puppy-like eyes stared at Dean, “Is Dad not coming back today?”  
Dean gritted his teeth, “I don’t know, Sam. But it was either pay for another night or go sit out on the street waiting for him. He probably just got caught up.”  
“But what if he crashed his car or got hurt?” Sam whimpered quietly.  
“Shut up, Sam! Just shut up!” Dean snapped, shoving his brother in frustration. The six-year-old lost his balance and fell on his side, but scrambled back into sitting again.  
“But I’m scared, Dean! What if Dad’s dead? Like Mom! What do we do?”   
Dean snapped at the mention of his mother and struck his brother on the cheek, “Don’t ever mention Mom! Don’t talk about her like that! You didn’t even know her, you were just a stupid baby! She never loved you like she loved me and Dad.”  
Sam stared at his elder brother with wide, terrified eyes. His brother never hit him before. Dean had shoved him a lot, but never hit. The younger boy darted to the bathroom and slammed the door, sitting against it and drawing his knees up to his chest. Dean could hear sniffles and sobs from behind the door and instantly regretted his actions. Not even John had hit Sam before. Who could hurt little Sammy? He couldn’t hurt a fly. If he did, it’d be an accident and he’d feel guilty about it for days. Sam was such a good kid, he never meant any harm. Dean hated himself for snapping, but his mother was a sensitive topic. But of course Mary loved Sam. Just because he’d only been around for six months when she died, it didn’t take a genius to see the adoration she had for her second son.   
The eleven-year-old remembered the night his mom died as if it were yesterday. He remembered the smoke and the flames and briefly seeing his mother burning on the ceiling. He remembered carrying his baby brother outside and reassuring him that it would all be okay. He still had nightmares about it occasionally. Dean didn’t like talking about Mary because he’d never been able to. John got unreasonably angry if his son asked about his mother and had yelled at him for merely mentioning her name. If he couldn’t talk about his mom, why should Sam? He barely knew her anyway, he didn’t remember her. Sam didn’t even know what she looked like. For all Dean knew, John had destroyed all photos of her, either that or kept them hidden away for himself. Except for a couple Dean had stolen for himself.  
Half an hour passed before Dean attempted to apologise to his brother. Sam needed a little time to calm down before being disturbed, as Dean had learned the hard way, and attempting to reason with him or make amends straight away was pointless. All you’d get is hysterical sobs in response. The eleven-year-old sat by the bathroom door, leaning against the wall.  
“Sammy?” he said softly, “I’m sorry.”  
“Go ‘way,” Sam hiccupped and sniffled.  
“I won’t go away, Sam. I was a jerk, alright? I shouldn’t have hit you and I shouldn’t have got mad. Just…mom’s a bit of a touchy subject. Dad doesn’t like us talking about her.”  
“I got a bruise on my face,” Sam mumbled.  
“It’ll clear up soon enough. You can hit me back if you want. I deserve it,” Dean smirked a little, but a thought crossed his mind, “Hey, Sammy…don’t tell Dad I hit you. Please.”  
“Why not?” Sam’s voice still shook as he fought to stop the tears.  
“Because he’ll get mad, real mad. I really am sorry, Sammy. I’ll do whatever you want to prove it. Just don’t tell Dad,” Dean put his head in his hands. John got angry enough if his eldest called Sam a name he didn’t like. Actually hitting him? The older Winchester brother didn’t even want to think about it.  
The bathroom door unlocked and opened slightly, with Sam’s face peeking through. His eyes were on full puppy-dog mode and his cheeks were tear stained, letting out the occasional sniffle. Dean sighed, holding out his arms.  
“C’mere,” he said softly, and his little brother ran and hugged him instantly. Sam sniffled and buried his head in Dean’s chest, staying quiet.  
“You love me, right, Dean?” the younger boy’s voice was muffled from speaking into Dean’s shirt.   
“Sure I do. You’re a pain in my ass but you’re my brother. I’ll always look out for you,” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair playfully, “Mom loved you too, Sammy.”  
“But you said…”  
“I know what I said. But I just got mad, said stuff I didn’t mean. Mom really loved you,” the older brother smiled wistfully and let Sam stay attached to him. Eventually the six-year old let go, staring at the floor sadly.  
“Why aren’t we allowed to talk about mom?” Sam asked quietly.  
“Because Dad said so,” Dean said quickly, “Just drop it, Sam.”  
Sam heard the urgency in his brother’s voice and didn’t press further, going back to lay on his bed. Once he was settled reading his book, Dean got himself washed up and ready for the day, not that he’d be going out anywhere besides the store for some food. The surprise $10 was the best news he could get, but he put a dollar or two aside to save for a very special occasion. The amounts of money given to Dean for food varied with every new motel, and he had to be sure of one thing. No one knew if John would be around for Sam’s seventh birthday in a week, but no matter what the circumstance, the elder Winchester brother had enough money for a happy meal for his little brother.   
The kid had never even seen a birthday cake, whether it be his or another kid’s, and his birthday presents were scarce. An occasional small toy here and there, more likely from Bobby or Pastor Jim than John, maybe some candy. It changed every year, but whatever he received Sam was genuinely grateful. Every gift he received got some kind of thank you note or drawing or something in return, though Sam wished he could buy thank you presents with his own money. A McDonalds was a small ask for any normal kid, but a huge deal for Sam Winchester. He’d set foot in that place once or twice. Dean looked forward to seeing the joy on his brother’s face at his birthday treat.  
The elder Winchester brother went to get washed and dressed while Sam tidied his things. If John was going to be arriving soon, he wanted to be ready to go. He wondered where they’d go next. Maybe they’d get to go to school again. Maybe he’d actually make a friend or two, or at least he certainly hoped he would. Sam had rarely mixed with other kids besides his brother and he certainly struggled trying to talk to other kids. The kids in his past classes had nowhere near as much interest in books as him and so they considered him strange for preferring to lose himself in a story over playing outside and playing tag. He’d been cooped up inside for the majority of his life, confined to motel rooms mostly. Bobby had been dismayed to see the six-year-old boy, who should be running around letting off steam, full of energy, standing looking a little lost when taken to the park in Sioux Falls to play. From then on the older hunter took both boys out as often as he could, even if it was to throw a ball around for a couple minutes.   
Sam gasped urgently as he accidentally knocked over Dean’s open duffle bag. Two pieces of paper floated to the floor and landed at the young boy’s feet. Picking them up, he actually realised they were photographs, old and a little worn, singed a little at the edges. He studied the writing on the back of both photos carefully.  
Mary and Dean, January 24th 1983.  
Mary and Little Sammy, October 29th 1983.  
Sam’s eyebrows lifted upon seeing his own name, and turned both photos over. In both photos was a beautiful woman he’d never seen before, with long blonde hair and gentle eyes. He smiled to himself, thinking silently that she was one of the prettiest ladies he’d ever seen. It took Sam a moment to make the connection that this was his mother, a person he was forbidden to talk about or even mention.   
“Mommy,” he whispered in awe, studying both pictures in detail. He recognised his brother, seven years younger with chubby cheeks and a huge grin as he hugged his pregnant mother, and she hugged him back. Sam realised with a small gasp that in that picture, that baby bump must have been him.   
Sam had never seen a picture of himself as a baby before. He stared at himself for a while, the small five month old baby nestled close to Mary, clinging onto her as she smiled at him lovingly. He wished he could remember his mom, even just a little bit. It saddened him that he’d never even known what she looked like until then.   
“What the hell are you doing?” Sam had forgotten that his brother could be back any minute. He almost jumped out of his skin at his brother’s unimpressed tone, and attempted to shove the photos back in Dean’s bag. Too late, Dean had snatched them out of his hands.  
“Quit snooping through my stuff, Sam!”   
“That’s mom, isn’t it?” Sam looked up at Dean as he held the photos close to him.  
“Shut up,” Dean snapped, avoiding eye contact with his little brother.  
“She’s pretty,” the six-year-old mumbled sadly and sat on his own bed, turned away from his big brother and rolling his toy car along the covers. Dean watched him with narrow eyes, but eventually sighed and sat beside him.  
“She was beautiful,” he said quietly, “The best mom in the world.”  
“You said we’re not allowed to…”  
“I know. But Dad isn’t here. But you gotta promise me you won’t rat me out,” the older Winchester boy hated how his brother had only just seen his mother at the age of six. Just because John got all sensitive over Mary didn’t mean that her mere name was a reason for punishment.   
He told Sam everything he remembered about his mom and everything John had told him about her, which wasn’t much. The younger boy listened intently and wished desperately that he could at least remember something himself, of course to no avail. Dean pressed the photo of Mary and baby Sam into his brother’s hand with a soft smile.  
“But it’s yours,” Sam said while staring at the photo.  
“Nah. It’s got you in it. It’s yours, Sammy. I’m sorry I got mad. And I’m sorry Dad and I never told you anything about her. But you ask me anything you want about her, alright? As long as you don’t go telling Dad,” Dean patted his brother’s back and got off the bed.  
“Promise,” the six-year old chirped, carefully putting the photo in the safety of his bag, “Why does Dad not like talking about her?”  
“Because he misses her, Sam. He never got over it,” Dean sighed and shook his head, “I miss her too…but he should move on. Sometimes I feel like he thinks of her more than us.”  
“Is that why he drinks a lot?” Sam stared at his photo, “Especially on her birthday?”  
“Yeah. Says it makes him feel better.”  
“Doesn’t look like it. He shouts when he drinks,” the younger boy frowned. Dean shuddered at the thought of his drunk father. He hid Sam from it as best he could, took the brunt of John’s anger so Sam didn’t get hurt. It wasn’t uncommon for the broken father’s drunken nights to end in a black eye on his oldest son, which Dean always insisted to his brother was from getting in a fight. He had to protect his little brother from this violence, he was terrified that someday Sam would be the one with a black eye, but he also didn’t want to scare him out of his wits. He was a sensitive kid, and the last thing he wanted was for him to be scared of his own father.   
“How did she die, Dean?” the younger boy’s voice was quiet with caution. Dean clenched his fist as his eyes filled with tears, his mind filled with the memories of fire and the stench of burning flesh. In an instant Sam regretted his decision and threw his arms around his brother in a tight hug. Eventually, the eleven-year-old gave in and hugged him back, burying his face in Sam’s shoulder and refusing to cry. Dean crying meant Sam crying and he didn’t have the energy to be dealing with that.  
Sam didn’t pester his brother for an answer, to Dean’s relief. He knew he’d pushed his luck with that question, and refused to ask anything else for the rest of the day. The sky began to darken and there was still no sign of their father, so the six-year-old had resumed his position of watching out the window avidly. He wouldn’t touch the food prepared for him by his brother, because he insisted he wanted to eat once his Dad was home. Dean was starting to worry himself, and was desperately trying to conceal this from his brother. John had never been late home before. He’d never been so late to the point where his sons would have to call Bobby or Pastor Jim for help. But it looked as if it were the only way.  
Dean’s hand was shaking a little as he picked up the motel phone, dialling up Jim Murphy’s number slowly and sitting on the bed while Sam watched on from the window.  
“P-Pastor Jim?” the older boy’s tone made Sam nervous, “It’s Dean…Dean Winchester.”  
“Dean? Is everything alright?”   
“Yeah…well. No actually. Our Dad hasn’t come back yet. He said he would today…and we,” he glanced over at Sam briefly, “Only have enough money for tonight in the motel.”  
The six-year-old gasped quietly and stared, wide eyed at Dean. Jim went a little quiet over the phone.  
“Where are you right now, Dean?” he said calmly, silently hoping the boys were, with a stroke of luck, in the same state.  
“Washington…near Seattle, I think,” Dean’s answer made the Pastor’s chest clench. He was at least a day away, even by driving. It was getting late, there was no way he could get there before the next night.  
“You definitely don’t have any more money for the motel?” he was unsure what else to suggest. He’d get to them as fast as he could, but the streets at night was no place for two young boys.   
“We…we only have about $10 for food,” Dean said, while Sam stared at him with a fearful expression.  
“I’ll get there as soon as I can, Dean. You take care of yourself and Sam, stay safe. Is there anyone else you can call?”   
“Uncle Bobby. He’s in South Dakota,” the older boy said hopefully, but Jim only shook his head. Bobby was pretty much the same distance away.   
“Try and find somewhere for you boys to go if your father isn’t back by tomorrow night, you got that?” Jim’s voice was serious.  
“Yes, sir,” Dean nodded to himself.  
“See if there’s a church nearby, ask if they can take you both in for the night,” the Pastor only hoped that wouldn’t get the boys taken away into care.  
“Yes, sir,” Dean repeated, “Thanks, Pastor Jim.”  
The call ended, and Jim put the phone down with a sigh, “Stay safe, boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Leave a review if you'd like :)


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